


8. 'hey hey this is no time to sleep'

by restmyheadatnightcontent



Series: febuwhump 2021 [8]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:41:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29293851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restmyheadatnightcontent/pseuds/restmyheadatnightcontent
Summary: He turns back and lifts his chin so that he can look them in the eye when he says “And it doesn’t matter. Because if I did know something, there’s no chance in hell that I would ever tell you.”They aren’t going to break him, he thinks as the fist sinks into this gut, no matter what.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: febuwhump 2021 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139954
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	8. 'hey hey this is no time to sleep'

**Author's Note:**

> this is a follow up to [ this ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29183079) but no need to read that one!

He bites back a scream as they break yet another finger. He’s not sure how many it is now, could be the third, maybe the fourth – the only thing he can feel right now is pain. He knows its enough that any lute playing is off the table for the foreseeable future – if he is ever reunited with his lute, and that thought almost brings tears to his eyes. The last time he saw his precious instrument it was in the hands of some Nilfgaardian guard and he feels like they won’t treat it with the respect it deserves. He’s never going to be able to find another lute quite like that, the sound it made was just wonderful, maybe someone in Oxenfurt would –

“Just tell us what we want to know bard and this will all stop,” a voice interrupts his trail of thoughts.

He sighs, he thought they had been over this – he has absolutely no idea where Geralt is or what he has been up to or if he has any secret witcher hiding places (if he did, he never deemed to share that information with Jaskier) - so they should just stop asking.

A rough hand grabs his hair and pulls his head up so that he is staring into the face of one his captors.

“I know you know something Jaskier. This will all be over if you just tell what you know,” they say with a smile that looks more like snarl. He can’t remember this one’s name – he can’t remember any of their names. They’ve all merged into one very ugly, very angry, very shouty face in his mind.

Jaskier lets out a hoarse laugh. “I’ve already told you everything I know which is _nothing_. I know absolutely fuck all so it doesn’t matter how many bones you break or how many punches you throw I still don’t know anything. Can’t you get your thick heads around it? I don’t know anything!”

That earns him a smack that sends his head flying to the side. He’s long given up on not trying to piss them off, it’s just too easy. Although he their faces blur in his mind, he can tell them apart by their hands. They all have their own special ways of inflicting pain, their own distinctive touch – it’s almost poetic and he’s sure he that he could think of some sort of metaphor if he weren’t in quite so much pain.

He turns back and lifts his chin so that he can look them in the eye when he says “And it doesn’t matter. Because if I did know something, there’s no chance in hell that I would ever tell you.”

They aren’t going to break him, he thinks as the fist sinks into this gut, no matter what.

***

He doesn’t look good when the door finally reopens and she sees Jaskier being dragged back in by two of the guards. They throw him down at her feet rather than tying him up by his wrists and dangling him from the ceiling again. The door slams shut and she shuffles slowly towards him. The dimeritium has left her weak and tired, and her hand shakes as she lifts it towards his face.

His face is a mess of bruises, a palette of dark blues and purples colouring the area around his eye. He blinks up at her blearily, his eyes dazed and unfocused. He must recognise her somehow, or perhaps he thinks she is someone else, but he looks up at her and mumbles “Didn’t say anything. Didn’t tell – didn’t tell them anything.”

And then his eyes are slipping closed and she knows it would be bad if he falls asleep now, no matter how much he wants to.

“Hey!” she slaps his cheek sharply “Hey! This is no time to fall asleep.”

He jerks back awake and lets out a painful groan at the movement. Broken ribs most likely.

“You need to stay awake bard,” he nods but she can see his eyes beginning to drift shut again “Sing to me.”

It is perhaps not the wisest thing to ask of a man whose screams she could hear even from where she was sat in the cell not a half hour ago but she can think of no other way to keep him awake. His eyes shoot open in surprise at the suggestion, before a flirtatious smile comes onto his face. Well, she assumes it’s meant to be flirtatious but as his lips widen, the cut in his lip reopens and blood flows down his chin.

“I always knew you liked my singing.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, bard” she says derisively as she gently lifts his head so he is resting in her lap. Her fingers find their way into his hair, and she starts to run her fingers through his bloodied locks. The motion helps to calm the nerves she can feel inside her, the fear at the helplessness of the situation, and judging by the soft hum Jaskier lets out, it is helping him too. Without her chaos, she can do nothing to help his healing but she tries to offer whatever comfort she can. The bard lifts a bloodied and broken hand to rest against her leg, and he begins to sing in a hoarse voice.

“ _The fairer sex they often call it,_

_But her love’s as unfair as a crook.”_


End file.
